


Ever Felt It

by Go0se



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, Break Up, Clever and totally surreptitious sliding in of lyrics to songs, Drunkenness, Friendship/Love, Hopeful Ending, Mentions of ace character having sex in the past, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5314163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Go0se/pseuds/Go0se
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes things don't work out, and that's okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ever Felt It

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt of "asexual!Patrick and aromantic!Pete", back in November. Woooo~  
> The wiki referenced here is the [AVEN wiki](http://www.asexuality.org/wiki/index.php?title=Main_Page), which is run by [Asexuality.Org](http://www.asexuality.org/).
> 
> //

  
  
Patrick knew something was up as soon as he walked into the apartment that evening. Pete had perched himself on the end of a chair in the dinette, his hands folded in front of him on the table like he was getting himself psyched up for a Serious Family Discussion(TM).   
“Hey,” Patrick said, stopping by the fridge, which was on the wall against the door.   
“Hey,” Pete echoed. He smiled in a way that did not reach his eyes.   
Patrick had always thought that saying was just artistic license, but apparently not. He could physically see the difference between the fucking legion of his boyfriend’s smiles and this one and it was because this one didn’t reach Pete’s fucking eyes. “Okay, just tell me,” he said flatly, putting his keys down on their kitchen's counter. “Whatever it is, just— please,” he added. “I hate dancing around.”  
“We need to break up,” Pete blurted.  
  
Oh.  
Patrick opened his mouth to say, 'Don’t bury the lede or anything', but he’d literally just asked Pete to be blunt with him so what the fuck. He inhaled a little shakily, trying not to yell. “Is it because I don’t—“   
“No, no, that’s not it at all.” Pete dropped his Serious Family Discussion posture and got up, hurrying over to Patrick. He folded their hands together like a lead in a rom com. At least his expression of worry and contriteness reached his eyes. “I don’t care that we don’t have sex, it’s completely fine. I still—“ _love you_ , would be the logical extension of that phrase but instead Pete switched gears, “—think you’re amazing. It’s just, uh. I’ve been reading some stuff online.”   
“Stuff?” Patrick’s mind reeled. A lot of the stuff that Pete read online wasn’t fit to mention in polite company—especially after Patrick had confessed that he was never really interested in sex with other people, no matter who, even people he was super into otherwise. (Pete’s internet use had upticked after that and Patrick had made a concentrated effort to always knock before walking into their bedroom and never, ever ask about suspicious noises. He still knew what Pete was doing, of course, but didn't want to see him at it.)   
“Theory stuff,” Pete explained. “About labels and orientations and-- I’m aromantic, that's a real concept, I'm not just fucked up."  
Patrick had no idea what was going on. "I don't think you're fucked up?" That was a lie, Pete was not the most stable of people and everyone who knew him knew it.  
Fortunately Pete kept talking right over him: "It’s really eye-opening— I think some of it might apply to you too, actually, ‘Trick, here, let me show you." He let go of Patrick’s hands to hurry back to the table and grab his laptop.

The use of the nickname was what jarred Patrick out of his apparently-being-dumped stupor. He took a couple sharp steps backwards and hit his hip on the doorknob. “ _Ow_ \-- what the fuck, Pete! You, you’re dumping me and you want me to read an article? Seriously?!”  
Pete froze where he was, looking up at Patrick. “I promise it’s really good,” he said nervously, and then backtracked. “I mean, it’s-- you know I don’t have the best history with relationships.”  
That was a fucking understatement. “That’s an understatement.”  
“I know. And I think… I think it’s. Uh.” Pete fiddled with the computer’s charge chord.   
_Because you’re Pete Wentz_ , Patrick thought uncharitably, then immediately felt shitty about it. “I need some booze before this."  
“There’s a six pack in the fridge from last Wednesday,” Pete supplied quickly.   
“Good enough.”

  
  
One drained six pack later and both of them were on the ratty couch. Patrick had Pete’s laptop balanced on his knees, open to a wiki laying out terms that cut a little too close to home. The article suggested he was asexual. He had no idea how he was feeling.   
Pete filled the silence, because he was Pete. His three-beers-deep drunk was more somber than usual but as repetitious as ever. “Like, I always thought of love as this huge, important thing,” he said. “In—in all the books, and everything, it’s this life-changing force, even if it’s bad, it’s this thing that would make people stay with you because it changed everything, and I wanted that, and I felt like I should have it, but I don’t think I ever… you know.”  
“Felt it,” Patrick said.   
“Yeah. Exactly.”  
“… I know what you mean,” Patrick admitted. He swallowed nervously, then reached for his beer and took another two swigs.  
Since high school everything in Patrick's life seemed to revolve around sex. His classmates, advertisements, bad jokes, all the stuff in between and surrounding them, all of it  was filled up with super sweaty innuendo-filled heat that made everyone around him wolf whistle or laugh, and Patrick had just never gotten it. He still jerked off. It felt really good and didn’t hurt anybody, why not? But when it came, or rather when it was applied, to other people... he just didn’t feel anything.  
He’d had sex a grand total of five times in his twenty-one years. Twice with his first girlfriend, once in a misguided one-night stand he couldn’t remember that well due to the drink choice that night, and twice with Pete. He didn’t exactly regret any of it (except for the one-night’s hangover), but looking back he’d been faking it each and every time. Faking interest in the lead-up and then desire in the moment. Not faking his orgasm, since that would be a little difficult, but viewing it in the privacy of his own head as a humorous consequence of a generally weird situation. He’d assumed something had just been off in his head, the wrong switch flipped, and whether or not it had to do with him liking guys too was up in the air. Maybe him being bisexual also meant he was just... bad at sex, somehow.  
Apparently not though. According to the wiki Pete had wordlessly passed to Patrick, he wasn’t defective, or whatever. He was ace. It was a kind of normal. Other people were ace, too, some differently than him-- they could have sex regularly, or be grossed out by the whole idea, could masturbate or not, or feel romantic love towards anyone or not or only in some situations-- and all of them were valid.  All of them were real ways to be. His head barely wrapped around it.  
  
Beside him, Pete was still talking. “I can write things about love better than I can feel them. Sometimes I really thought that I loved someone, but it was just ‘cause I wasn’t having the best time other than them, or they-- they looked really good in the light. You know? And I always hurt people.” His tone dipped.

  
“Hey,” Patrick protested, his head snapping up from looking at the screen.   
“Sorry,” Pete replied. He reached for his own beer, making a face when Patrick swiped it (“You’ve had enough, man,”). “I do though, even when I don’t mean to. That’s not an aromantic thing, it’s just my own thing. But I didn’t want to hurt you, I swear.”   
Patrick thought he should reach over and hug him or something. But also, hey, Patrick was still a little sore on the _being dumped_.  He compromised by setting the laptop down on the cushion beside him so he’d be able to get up fast if Pete tried to leave. “You didn't, man. Before this you haven't. You were the first one to ever ask me about-- if I actually wanted to and then listen and point out when I wasn’t--" He didn't want to actually say 'into having sex'. But the point remained, "That isn’t hurting, Pete.”  
Pete seemed to consider this. He eyed the laptop from across Patrick’s thighs but didn’t reach for it. “… okay,” he finally said.   
That didn’t mean Pete was okay. Patrick needed to shift the conversation before Pete tripped the fuck down the rabbit hole his brain fashioned for him again.  
Fortunately that wasn't difficult. “Why now?” Patrick asked. “I mean. All this, why tell me now.”   
“Because now’s when I found the site,” Pete said. He made grabby motions for the computer so Patrick passed it over. Pete looked at the screen with the intensity he usually reserved for classic literature. After a minute he continued, “It all made so much sense all of a sudden. I made sense. Stuff like that doesn’t happen very often for me. And, I just. I didn’t want to hurt you--”  
“Pete, you—“  
“I know,” Pete said, “I know, but I mean, I didn’t want to wait until we got more serious than this.” He waved his hand vaguely between them, like their relationship timeline was written out in the air.  
That stung a little. Patrick leaned his head on the under-stuffed back of the couch and covered his face with his hands. He was hurt, but he had to admit Pete had a point. The two of them had been going out for almost a year. They’d been roommates longer, and friends before roommates; the apartment had just been a matter of convenience for both of them at first. Cheaper rent and good company, why not? When Pete had crawled into Patrick’s lap after four or so beers one night, ten months ago, Patrick hadn’t thought much of it except that it seemed to make sense. Making out was what people who liked each other did.   
Goddamn it, he really _liked_ Pete. 

  
While Patrick freaked out internally, Pete (probably thinking himself incredibly cunning) had been slowly shifting closer and closer. Now they were basically sitting hip to hip. “Hey,” he said.  
“Hey,” Patrick mumbled back without looking at him. He really liked Pete, but he wasn’t precisely in love with him yet. Yet. If given time he probably would be. Pete wouldn’t reciprocate, though. He wasn’t wired for it. If Patrick put his I’m-an-adult head on he could see how Pete would reason it was better for them to break up like this, now, than if he’d just dragged it out and waited until they split for some other reason. Pete was at least being honest with him. He felt safe enough with Patrick to be honest. That didn’t mean nothing.   
“Hey,” Pete repeated. Something blunt poked into Patrick’s upper arm.  
He looked over. “ _What_ , Wentz.”  
Pete was looking at him with big eyes. A smile was trying to creep around the edges of his mouth but wasn’t making it. He looked tense and tired. He leaned his head on the side of Patrick’s shoulder like he’d had every time since ever, relaxing only a little when Patrick didn't pull away. “I’m. I’m sorry you’re hurt,” Pete said in a small, weird voice. “I hope you don’t hate me. I liked being with you, just not the... You’re the best fucking friend I’ve ever had, Patrick. I wish you’d say something.”  
“I don’t hate you,” Patrick replied, a little startled. The buzz from the beers had worn down by now and it was leaving him with a steady ache behind his temples. Words spinning around his brain from the wiki weren’t helping any matters. “It’s… it’s just all kind of a lot. Jesus christ. What should I even say?”  
Pete was quiet for a while. "You could say, 'We're still friends, Peter.'"  
"We're still friends, Peter." Patrick paused. "And you're a really clingy shoulder girlfriend."  
Pete laughed, surprise colouring it. He'd dumped Patrick not two hours ago and almost at the same time he'd shown Patrick that he had a name. 

Patrick leaned his head against Pete's hair. Pete hadn't used a straightener or shower in a while, so Patrick's cheekbone squished some slowly-reverting curls. It was a familiar feeling. He purposefully didn't think, _love._ He thought instead,  _Pete. Roommate. Friend._ That's what they'd be from now on.

Patrick could be okay with that. Not just this second, but soon.

 

///


End file.
